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Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
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"Near the end of her life, I could not see beyond my mother’s childlike stare, the confused disorder in her eyes. I could not feel anything but the ache of having to be my mother’s mother. After she died and I had finally shaken off the last shiver of the disease, I was able to remember what she had been like before Alzheimer’s.
I could see her turn her wrist to adjust her watch. There she was, at her dressing table, leaning into the magnifying mirror, plucking her eyebrows. I could see her dipping the tiny wand in the brown Mercurochrome bottle, painting my bruised knee orange. She was the grown-up. And I, again, was the child."
-excerpt "Losing My Mother", full text HERE